There are days, as a parent, that your kids will test you. They will fight each other like they’re trying to draw blood. They will disobey and defy you in ways that will knock you off your feet. And they’ll act out in ways that makes me think at least, “I was NEVER like this as a child.” 

And maybe I wasn’t, but I’m sure in other ways, I was. I can remember plenty of times I got in trouble for talking back, being mean to my brother, or being disrespectful. I can remember plenty of times that I slammed my door as a teen, thinking that would show my parents how angry I was. And I know that my parents still loved me through it, but now I know how they must have felt on the other side of that door.

Eastern Long Island has a few big apple orchards. Every autumn, they have u-pick harvest festivals, where you can go in and pick bushels of apples of all different kinds. Granny smith, pink ladies, macintosh, golden, red delicious. You name it, there are rows and rows of them.

When I was younger, it always used to bother me how many apples were on the ground. It felt wasteful. All these apples on the floor, rotting or going to the bugs. What use is that?

There is one thing I remember from the birth of my children; my firstborn especially. I remember the way that little hospital room became this warmly lit, peaceful, little bubble. The moments where it was just me, the baby, and her dad, felt the most safe and golden I have ever felt.

We looked at her until our eyes started crossing and the lids felt heavy. We held her and marveled at her perfection. We kissed her and let her wrap her whole hand around our one finger. We sang to her and prayed with her and spoke softly about how beautiful she was. How we promised to be the kind of parents who taught her about Jesus and cherished her soul every day of her life.

Could you imagine being in the middle of a work shift and being confronted by an angel?

The shepherds were out in their fields, watching the sheep, pulling the night shift. I can’t imagine the job was all that riveting. After all, the old bedtime hack is to count sheep, isn’t it?

Currently, as I write this, my one-year-old is “ballerina dancing” on the coffee table to the classical music playing in the room. Her hands are above her head, and she’s making clumsy, wobbly spins with a big, goofy grin. The living room is a mess, a pot of chili is cooling on the kitchen counter from dinner waiting for someone to put it away, and this mama is ready for bedtime.

Nothing is wrong. The kids aren’t misbehaving– except that I’d like the toddler to dance on the floor, not the coffee table– and there is no pressing things that have to be completed in the next hour, but I feel overwhelmed. And a part of me wonders: I wonder if Mary felt this way?

November is all about giving thanks. We love to do our 30 days of thankful posts on Facebook. We remember thankfulness at church services leading up to the holidays; we go around the table while we’re all digging in to the Thanksgiving meal, saying what we’re most thankful for this year.

And the day after?

It’s great to have a day dedicated to being thankful and remembering all the ways God has blessed us, even better to recognize it all year round, but it’s easy to slip back into habits of discontent.

We have so many things to be thankful for that we often don’t reflect on. So many things that it doesn’t even occur to us to be grateful for, but all things that God has given us, and all equally deserving to give Him praise for.

For our homes– the very fact that we have one. Whether we rent, or pay a mortgage, or live with our parents. Thank you, God, for allowing us a space somewhere in this world where we can be safe; that we can make our own. Thank you for a place to go every day, when our work is done, that we can rest and find peace in. Thank you for all the creature comforts of that home: the running water, the microwave, the comfy couch, the clean sheets, and the lights that come on when we flip the switch. That home is a reflection of us, so we thank you for the safety of that dwelling place, and the privilege to make it ours.

Does a bird reject its wings, wishing to take flight in any other way than the way it was designed to? Does a fish attempt to live underwater without its gills, breathing in some other way that allows it to work against God’s created intention for it? Does an elephant rebel against its being an elephant, trying to be a housecat? 

No. All creation lives in absolute submission to the Lord. In Matthew 6, we know Jesus talks about how the sparrow doesn’t fret over where it will be fed. The lilies don’t struggle against blooming. They don’t worry over being a thistle or a rose. All creation embraces their place in God’s creation.

An older gentleman was featured on Humans of New York’s Facebook page this week. He shared his story of running for New York City Council ten years ago in Eastern Queens. He speaks about how even just ten years ago, in a post-9/11 city the people of his community were legally abused because they lacked political power at even the lowest levels. Most were not even voters.

This man’s community was, more specifically, South Asian Muslims.

Many good men and women have gone to prison for the sake of the Gospel. They’ve been captured and persecuted for spreading it, honoring it, and defending it. Some wrote from those prisons like Paul or John Bunyan. Some strengthened the faith of those around them, the way we saw Lady Jane Grey do last week while she awaited her execution from isolated detention.

But imagine– instead of a jail cell with a cot, a chamber pot, and a desk with some paper– you were chained to a bench. And your hands constantly hovered before a massive oar on board a galley ship. Imagine instead of being a prisoner, you were a slave, forced to row military ships when the wind was not in favor of the sails. This is how John Knox lived for nineteen months in the late 1540s, after he was captured by the French when they took back Scotland’s St. Andrews Castle. The fortress that had become a safe haven for Protestants during the tumultuous period where Scotland hung in the balance between the Reformation that King Henry VIII had inadvertently given rise to, and the Roman Catholic church that constantly sought to regain a foothold there.

Imagine being told one day to attend a meeting at a secret location. You travel to the house where you were told to meet and all the major politicians of your time are there. They are kneeling, promising you fealty, and calling you the new ruler of England.

On July 9th, 1553, Lady Jane Grey found that her cousin, King Edward VI had died and that in his last will and testament, he had ordered the succession of the crown be changed– passing over Edward’s older half-sister Mary Tudor to name Lady Jane Grey as his heir to the throne. This was a role she neither anticipated nor campaigned for. In fact, she first protested the crown and when she did finally accept the role, she asked God to help her rule to His glory if it be His will that she reign.

Imagine: you’ve made a choice that will change the course of your life forever. What lies behind is a life you can’t go back to or be content in, so you have chosen to leave it. If caught, you would be severely punished, and yet the future you venture towards is vastly uncertain and unknown.

In many ways, this analogy applies to the Christian walk: being saved by grace and living righteously will require us to step on to a different path. Becoming sanctified by the Lord will mean leaving our old lifestyles, haunts, and routines in order to make new ones that glorify God. In doing so, we may find that those we once called friends no longer understand us and shun us. We may find things that once gave us comfort, don’t anymore.

We’ve all done it– we’ve all looked at the sin of someone else and judged it to be greater than our own. Maybe, in our own pride, we’ve even wished that God would pour out justice on that sin.

In John 8, we see a woman who is brought before Jesus to judge for her sin. John writes that she was brought to the temple and presented to Jesus as an adulteress and was caught in the very act– the punishment for which was to be stoned to death. The aim for these religious leaders was to put Jesus in a catch-22: condemn the woman for her sin thus painting Jesus as a strict, cruel judge, or for Jesus to condone the adultery which would make him wantonly lax on unrighteous, immoral sin.

This past weekend, Sam and I went on a date. The plan was to do a workshop at a glass blowing studio, have dinner, and maybe drive around together. Saturday morning, Sam said, “There’s a rally happening tonight in Charlie Kirk’s name. Would you go pass out gospel tracts with me?”

At first I was hesitant. This did not fit in with my plans to spend time together; it didn’t sound like the ideal date night I had been looking forward to. Then I caught myself thinking: isn’t this the kind of man I prayed for? The kind of man who went out of his way to share Jesus with others? These were the days I dreamed to have with my husband: to do ministry side by side and to serve God together.

In 2015, I was living in Cape Town, South Africa, a city that doesn’t have a skyline the way normal cities do. Instead, this city is marked by the three mountains that loom large over the metropolis. The biggest of these mountains is called Table Mountain, named for its long, flat shape.

I’m not a hiker by any means, but climbing to the top of Table Mountain is a rite of passage of sorts, especially for foreign students like I was. While my family was in town, we decided to tackle the trail together. It was continuous stairs and switchbacks from the trailhead to the top, and it always seemed that just when you thought you were going to see the top, the trail just kept going.

Back in the early 2000s, our scope of who could be accessed for Biblical teaching was limited. You had your pastor at your local church, maybe a few tele-evangelists, and whatever books you could get your hands on if you had a Christian bookstore around. It was probably more simple to sift through sources and try other teachers if the Gospel wasn’t being preached.

Compare that to now, and the information, teachers, and material at our fingertips is so endless, you could never possibly get through it all. With the internet, you can access this past Sunday’s sermon from any given church that has a video camera, a microphone, and a YouTube channel– and that includes megachurches right on down to the tiny, country church in America’s smallest town.